When Your Only Tool Is A Hammer
by MTC29
Summary: In late 1969, naval aviator Harmon "Hammer" Rabb Sr. and his wingman, Tom Boone, are deployed to the Gulf of Tonkin aboard the USS Ticonderoga. Harm and Tom's mission on Thanksgiving day is no holiday.
1. Chapter 1

18 September, 1969  
_USS Ticonderoga. _  
U.S. Naval Base Subic Bay, Philippines

_"Hi Trish. I wanted to finish the last few minutes on this tape before I send it to you. Sorry about the background noise_, _but Tom is playing a Jenny Lake record. To be honest, that girl doesn't have much of a voice_. _Hey Tom, can you turn that down?" _

The music goes silent.

"_Sorry, Harm, I didn't know that you were recording. Hi__, Trish. This is the guy you should have married. Harm, lunch is in 15 minutes, so I'm heading to the wardroom." _

_"Trish, Tom has become a real chowhound. He's done nothing but eat on this deployment."_

_"Hey, I might be losing my hair, but I haven't lost my appetite. Trish, give Little Harm a hug from me," _and Boone walked out of the cabin to give his friend some privacy.

_"Trish, I was getting bored just hanging around the ship, so yesterday I did some shopping in Subic Bay, and I__ sent out Christmas gifts for Little Harm. I hate knowing that I'll be away from the two of you over the holidays (_thoughtful pause_). When I get home I have a months leave coming. __We'll spend time on my mother's the farm, and I can start work on restoring the Stearman. Maybe Little Harm will be able to help me? __Sweetheart, I promise that this will be my last deployment.__ I'm going to take the billet as a flight instructor at Pensacola. I'll be flying regular hours and have plenty of time to spend with you and Little Harm. __Give our boy a big kiss from me, __and tell him that I'll be home soon. __I love you, Sweetheart."_

* * *

27 November, 1969 (Thanksgiving Day).  
Thạch Hãn River.  
Quảng Trị Province, Republic of Vietnam

"Delta 1-6 to Romeo-7," came the urgent call from a U.S Army platoon leader whose men were engaged in a firefight.

"Romeo-7. Go," answered Air Force First Lieutenant Ron Clayton, the Forward Air Controller (FAC) operating in the Quảng Trị area. Clayton was orbiting in a USAF O-1 "Oscar Ace"; a single engine propeller plane which flew low and slow.

"Romeo, I'm taking heavy incoming fire from the opposite bank of the river at my northwest. Suspect company strength. Request fast movers at 2-0-5-1-7. Popping smoke."

"Delta, I have yellow smoke," answered Clayton.

"Confirm yellow smoke. Romeo, I need help. We're about to be overrun."

"Can you withdraw?"

"Negative. I have a squad pinned down on the sandbar 100 meters to my north. I can't leave them."

"Hold on, Delta."

Other than an M3A1 submachine gun mounted in the cockpit, and a thermite grenade to destroy the aircraft in the event he was forced down, Clayton's Oscar Ace had no offensive weapons. He quickly called for assistance from the nearest air assets.

The FAC's call for help met with a fast response. "Romeo-7, this is Navy Bad Man One with a flight of two F-4s. We have just completed a strike and are out-bound from Route Pack Three-Alpha at 120 radial, Lima 75 TACAN, angels 8. We can be on target in 6 minutes."

Bad Man flight was Navy Lt. Harmon "Hammer" Rabb and his wingman, Lt. Tom "T-Bone" Boone. Rabb and Boone were assigned to VF-111, the Sundowners, and were deployed aboard _USS Ticonderoga _with the 16th Air Wing which had recently made the transition from the single seat F-8 to larger and more powerful F-4 Phantom II. Harmon Rabb was considered the hottest F-4 jock in his squadron.

The primary duty of US Navy fighter aircraft was to protect the fleet from enemy air attack. With MiGs considered a negligible threat to Task Force 77, most F-4 missions were as "bomb trucks" supporting Marine ground forces.

After completing their primary strike, Harm and Tom had bombs remaining and rather than jettisoning them in the ocean, Harm was anxious to make a second strike.

"Bad Man, state your ordnance," Clayton requested. Aircraft sometimes carried ordnance that was unsuitable for the task at hand, leading to poor strike results or, occasionally, tragic consequences during close air support.

"Snake and nape," answered Harm, who was carrying two M82 500 pound general purpose bombs and two M47 bombs filled with napalm. "We can give you 15 minutes of playtime."

"Delta to Romeo! They're coming down the chimney. I can't hold," came the call from the ground.

"Bad Man, we need you ASAP. Pour on the coal!"

Rabb and Boone goosed the throttles of their big General Electric J79 turbojets, which began belching a trail of sooty black smoke; an F-4 trademark which could be seen for miles.

"Navy Bad Man One calling Red Crown. Show my flight of two F-4s inbound for a strike at 2-0-5-1-7. We're going to lend the Army a hand."

Red Crown was the radio call sign for _USS Chicago, _a radar picket ship on station in the Gulf of Tonkin, whose radar coverage extended over the air-strike routes flown from Yankee Station. Flight Followers stationed on the "Windy City" tracked aircraft up and down Vietnam (as well as parts of Laos and Cambodia), and could provide positive control in the event of search and rescue operations.

"Roger, Bad Man," said Chief Operations Specialist Larry Nowell, who was one of the best known air controllers in Vietnam.

Harm contacted the FAC. "Romeo-7, Bad Man Leader. We're two minutes out. Where do you want it?"

"Delta 1-6 is showing yellow smoke. Friendlies on the sandbar 200 meters to his north. I say again, friendlies on the sandbar. Hostiles are on the north bank, just below the bend in the river and near the large grove of trees. Use snake only. I can mark the target with a smoke rocket."

"Negative. I have it spotted. Friendlies on the sandbar, bad guys on the opposite bank below the bend and in the grove."

"Bad Man Two acknowledges and copies," said Tom Boone.

"Bad Man flight, terrain is flat. Target elevation is below 200 meters MSL. Use random attack from a wheel," Clayton advised.

"Roger, Romeo. I'm rolling in with snake in sixty seconds. Clear when ready to wheel."

"Tally on you, Bad Man. You are cleared to descend to best altitude and set up your wheel."

"Wilco. Bad Man Two, stay up top. I'm going downtown," Harm instructed Boone.

"Roger, Hammer. Hit 'em hard."

The F-4's bomb aiming system was essentially manual with accuracy corresponding to the skill of the hands on the stick. If the approach was too fast, the bomb went long; too slow, the bomb fell short.

It was said that Harmon Rabb could pick the window he wanted his bombs to fly through.

Harm switched his radio to Fox-Mike: the tactical frequency used to contact the platoon leader on the ground. "Delta from Bad Man Leader. I have your smoke south of the river."

"Bad Man, I see you...I see you! Go hot. Bring it in." The voice on the ground was urgent, and pitched higher than normal for an adult man.

Harm pictured a young second lieutenant: a "butter bar", perhaps with only a few weeks in-country. Somehow his platoon had been split up and one of his squads was left stranded on the sand bar.

The Lieutenant couldn't reach them...and he couldn't leave them.

"Roger, Delta. I'm dropping danger-close. Get your heads down." Harm heard a double-click in his headset, which meant that Delta had dived for cover.

Holding station in the Oscar Ace, Lt. Clayton kept his eye on the target. Ground fire erupted from along the river bank, but it was small caliber and poorly aimed and Harmon Rabb bored in oblivious to it.

Just before Harm's F-4 passed over the grove of trees, two sleek shapes, each light gray and weighing 500 pounds, fell from hardpoints located under its wings. Moments after release the bomb's four petal-like fins popped open. The fins slowed the bomb's descent and caused it to oscillate slightly in flight, sort of like the head of a snake. This was the source of the Mk-82's nickname: Snake Eye.

To avoid being struck by his own shrapnel, Harm pulled up and away. In the backseat, Hoot Gibson watched as the bombs detonated with a flash of orange-blue flame, followed by a distinctive WHUM-PUMP as the shockwave moved away from the blast area before leaving behind a cloud of ugly gray smoke.

"Bad Man, you were on target! Two, I need you to drop 100 meters east of Leader's strike," said Delta.

"Roger. Bad Man Two is coming in hot. Keep those heads down," Boone instructed.

"Cleared hot," was the response from Delta.

While Boone set up his bombing run, Harm saw that ground-to-air fire had intensified. "Two, I'm going to roll down and cover you in the chute," and Tom Boone saw his best friend purposefully drawing enemy fire to his own ship.

Boone released his two MK-82's along the river bank. The smoke had barely cleared when Delta called, "Bad Man Two, that was on target."

"Delta, say your status," asked FAC Clayton.

"All friendlies are okay. My team has been recovered."

"Are you still taking fire?" asked Clayton.

"Negative. Bad Man blew the shit out of them! Thanks, guys."

Behind his oxygen mask, Harm's face broke into a wide smile. "The Tonkin Yacht Club aims to please."

Lt. Clayton was orbiting the target area for the post-strike evaluation when he spotted something to the north. "Romeo-7 to Bad Man Leader. Enemy vehicles in the open at my November. Possible truck park. Can you engage?"

"All we have is nape," answered Hammer.

"Bring it in."

"Two, wheel left and engage the vehicles east to west," Harm instructed Tom.

"Roger, Hammer."

"Bad Man, you are cleared hot," said Clayton, and when the two F-4 roared over the target area, he saw two silver canisters tumble away from under their wings.

The canisters burst open above the ground and spread an ocean of fire. There were a series of secondary explosions as individual vehicles blew up, and then a massive detonation which sent a fiery mushroom shaped cloud boiling up in the sky which rattled Clayton in his seat.

"Christ on a crutch! I think you guys just took out a fuel dump."

"I'll bet that got their shit hot," Tom Boone shouted.

Harm's voice was more relaxed. "Roger, Romeo. Two, join up left. Switches safe." For Harmon Rabb, it was just another day at the office.

"Bad Man flight, stand by for strike eval," said Clayton. Because pilots had a tendency to embellish the results of their strikes, the FAC performed the official strike evaluation. Nevertheless, Clayton had been impressed with the precision of Bad Man's attack.

"Ready to copy," answered Harm.

"That was great work. BDA as follows: Time On Target, 15 minutes. 100% good bombs, 100% on target. Primary target destroyed. Numerous secondary targets destroyed, including four light skinned vehicles, and a suspected fuel dump left burning. Numerous enemy KBAs (Killed By Air) observed. You squids earned your pay for the month."

"I don't know about the "Chair Force", but the U.S. Navy charges triple time for working on Thanksgiving Day!" said Harm.

"Roger, Bad Man. I'll forward your bill to General Westmoreland."

Lt. Clayton pictured the wardroom of the _Ticonderoga_ where a lavish Thanksgiving meal would be awaiting the two Navy pilots. His own base, or what passed for a base, consisted of a dirt landing strip, half a dozen tin huts, and a latrine where he crapped into a 55 gallon drum. "You guys have a good Turkey Day. I hope the _Ticonderoga _keep's a plate in the oven for you."

"Likewise, Romeo." Harm raised the _Chicago. _"Red Crown... Red Crown. This is Navy Bad Man flight. We are Winchester (all ordnance expended) and RTB (Returning To Boat)."

"Copy, Bad Man. Winchester and RTB is A-firm," the _Chicago _responded. Without ordnance, the two F-4's were out of the fight, at least for a while.

Boone called to Harm. "Let's hurry. I want my turkey dinner, and I want it hot!"

"You're just afraid that Bill Ross or Gary Grissom is going to grab those drumsticks before you get them."

Once Harm had set course for the _Ticonderoga, _he checked his fuel gauges. The F-4 was a gas hog, and when configured for ground attack, the Phantom had a mission time of just over 90 minutes. Because of they had engaged multiple targets in two missions, most of that time had been used up.

Harm asked his RIO for the fuel numbers.

"Harm, I need a minute." Gibson had been spectating during their two bombing runs and he was angry at himself for not having the figures ready.

"Take two minutes, Hoot." Harm's voice was calm. This was Gibson's first deployment and so far he'd done everything that was expected of him.

Harm took a second look at his gauges and didn't like what he saw. "Hoot, the center tank shows 3000 pounds, but the fuel is not transferring. The transfer pump must have quit."

The F-4's center fuel tank was known to be trouble prone, but because it didn't affect the plane's handling it seldom attracted attention.

"What about the auxiliary pump?" This was the first time that Gibson had faced an actual in-flight malfunction, and he was nervous.

"I tried it. No joy. We won't make the boat on internal fuel. We'll have to tank." Harm knew that with a serious fuel leak he needed to tank with the whale in order to have any hope of making it to the_ Ticonderoga._

"I'll raise the whale," which was the KA-3B tanker which would be on station off the coast of Vietnam.

By now the fuel loss had become noticeable. Harm guessed that one of the seven fuel tanks located inside the F-4's fuselage had developed a leak caused by the ground fire during one of their bombing runs.

A "Golden BB"- a lucky rifle shot, could knock down a multi-million dollar jet as easily as a fearsome SAM missile.

As they crossed into the Gulf of Tonkin, Harm called, "Feet wet," and gave a silent sigh of relief. If they had to punch-out (eject), rescue at sea meant the chance of capture was remote.

No one wanted a vacation in the Hanoi Hilton.

"I can't raise the tanker," said Gibson. He wasn't a strong swimmer and if it came down to it, he would rather bail out over land. Worse still was that the F-4's backseat air conditioner didn't work well below 10,000 feet and Hoot was sweating like a pig.

Harm contacted Boone. "Bad Man Two. I'm having fuel problems."

"There go my drumsticks!"

Harm needed to conserve fuel, but at speeds below 300 knots the F-4 was a brick. "Two, I have to cut my speed to 300 knots. Give me a battle damage check."

Boone was positioned on the left side of Harm's ship but saw nothing to indicate any kind of trouble. "Nothing to port. Hold steady while I'll slip down to check the underside."

"See anything?" asked Harm

"You have some flak damage, but I don't see anything leaking down here. I'm going to give the starboard side a look." An instant later, Boone reported the bad news. "You have a dozen small caliber holes low on the starboard side, just ahead of the vertical stabilizer. Vapor is trailing from all of them."

"Any chance it could be hydraulic fluid?" Harm asked.

"Negative. Hydraulic fluid would be gone by now. My guess is that tank six and possibly seven has been hit." Boone knew that the damage was the result of his friend purposefully drawing away enemy fire while he completed his own bomb run. "What's your fuel state?" The F-4's fuel tanks were self sealing, but there were limits.

"8,000 pounds. 3,000 pounds are in the center tank, and I can't transfer the fuel," said Harm, who knew that even at modest speeds, each of the two thirsty J79's burned fuel at nearly 150 pounds per minute.

"Did you try the auxiliary pump?" Boone was sure that Harm had already tried it, but even the best aviators can overlook something simple.

"No joy. It looks like I'm losing about 100 pounds per minute. Hoot can't raise the tanker. I don't think it's on station."

"It's a hell of a way to run a war when a guy can't get five bucks worth of gas!" Boone's voice turned serious. "Harm, without the whale you won't make it to the boat. You'd better contact the _Chicago _and have them send out Clementine," which was one of the Kaman SH-2 Seasprite helicopters used for Search and Rescue (SAR) work. "I'll contact the _Tico _and let them know what's happening."

"Try to find out where that tanker is."

"For all we know it could be orbiting Hong Kong. Phillips only has one job, and he can't do that one right."

Phillips was Lt. Harold "Prince" Phillips, the KA-3B pilot. Phillips and Boone were not on friendly terms, not that anyone was on friendly terms with Tom Boone.

Harm called the _Chicago. _"Red Crown...Red Crown. This is Navy Bad Man One."

"Go ahead, Bad Man," answered Chief Operations Specialist Nowell, who handled PIRAZ- Positive Identification Radar Zones in the western most portion of the Gulf of Tonkin. With the _Chicago's _array of powerful air search radar, Nowell could track dozens of aircraft simultaneously.

"I am 110 miles south east of center, heading 051 at angles 8. I am declaring an emergency. I'm suffering a fuel leak and I am unable to raise my tanker."

"Bad Man One, I have you on my scope. Due to operational concerns, both of the _Ticonderoga's _tankers are currently out of service. I will try to vector a tanker to your location."

"Red Crown, I need to tank in eight minutes or I'm going swimming."

"Can you bingo (divert) to Da Nang?"

"Negative. I'm too far out. I've got to get to the boat"

"Roger, Bad Man. I'll find you some fuel. To play it safe, I'm dispatching a helicopter," said Chief Nowell, who then went to work.

Vietnam was divided into 6 Route Packages which ran from north to south, with Route Packs 5 and 6 being northern-most. The Navy and Marines were responsible for the packages along the coast of the Gulf of Tonkin, while the Air Force conducted its bombing campaign in the far north. During long periods between January and March, monsoon-driven fog and overcast precluded visual strikes in much of Vietnam. The November weather was favorable so the Air Force and the Navy were currently running a large number of strikes and demand for tankers was heavy.

Flying out of bases in Thailand and South Vietnam, the Air Force maintained several Boeing KC-135s in the air. The big Boeings were essentially 707 airliners configured for refueling and supported fighter-bomber strikes as well as B-52 missions over Laos and eastern Cambodia; missions which could never be discussed. A single KC-135 could comfortably refuel a B-52, but the Air Force and Navy refueling systems were not compatible so that the Air Force could not assist.

Nowell understood that Bad Man had less than ten minutes of fuel reaming before they had to eject. "Ditching" an aircraft was a thing of the past; aviators hit the silk and then were plucked out of the sea. The chopper would arrive on scene in fifteen minutes, which put Bad Man in the water for five. A lot of unpleasant things could happen to a downed aviator during those five minutes.

Nowell had to find Bad Man some fuel, and find it fast.

"Harm, both of the _Tico's _tankers are sitting on the deck. Prince's ship is down with mechanical problems and number 2 is being refueled. Estimate 10 minutes to launch," said Boone.

When Tom Boone was informed that both of the _Ticonderoga's _tankers were out of service, he exploded over the radio and bad mouthed everyone from the Chief of Naval Operations on down the line. Boone's ass was in a sling, and when he got back to the boat his first stop would most likely be the CAG's office.

That was nothing new for Boone. He had been there before.

"I've got six minutes of fuel remaining and I'd like to hold off on that swim," said Harm.

"Screw the tanker. Let's try Plan-B," said Boone.

"I'm all ears," said Harm. Boone was a hothead with a reputation in the squadron of being a screw up. Tom Boone was all of those things, but he was also a damned good pilot who could think fast under pressure.

Best friend or not, that was why Tom Boone was Harm's wingman.

More to the point, Tom Boone had earned a degree in electrical engineering from Iowa State and he understood the electrical systems of every aircraft that he was qualified to fly.

"Harm, go to circuit panel 2. There are two sets of 15 amp breakers for the fuel booster pumps at positions echo, foxtrot and golf. You want the breaker for the left pump at position foxtrot. It's at the inside edge of the panel."

Circuit panel 2 was located on the right side of the cockpit and low enough to be out of the pilot's view. It wasn't going to be easy flying the aircraft and studying the panel at the same time, but Harmon Rabb was an extraordinary aviator. Harm being selected for the Blue Angels Flight Demonstration Team was proof enough.

"I've got it."

"Reset the breaker for the left side pump. Once the breaker is reset I'll see if the pump is energized."

"I'll try it."

Thanks to the designers at McDonnell Douglas, the individual breakers in the F-4 were easy to manipulate, even while wearing gloves. Harm carefully pushed-in the button on the breaker and reset it.

"The pump is running. I see an increase in fuel flow coming from out of the bullet holes. The leak is defiantly in the aft tank," Boone announced.

"I can see 3300 pounds on the gauge, but I can't transfer it. Right now I'm just pumping fuel into the leak."

For the first time, Harm's voice showed signs of frustration.

"Then it's time for Plan-C. Go back to panel 2. At position golf there are two 5 amp breakers for the fuel transfer pumps. Reset the breaker for tank number 4. Then try to bypass the aft tank. If that doesn't work, reset the transfer pump breakers for the number 4 tank at positions foxtrot and echo. Do it in that exact order. I'll observe."

Harm tried position golf. When Tom reported there was no noticeable change in fuel leakage, Harm reset the breaker at position foxtrot.

"That did it. Fuel leakage just dropped by over 50%," said Boone.

"That should postpone our swim. I owe you."

"Don't sweat it, buddy. I'm with you for the whole ride." Tom Boone wondered what he'd done right in his life to deserve a friend like Harmon Rabb?

"Hoot, the center tank is back on line. What's our fuel status?" Harm asked his RIO.

"We just bought 10 minutes. We can stay in the air for 15." There was no hesitation in Hoot's answer. It was short and concise, and gave Harm the exact information he needed to know.

"Time to the boat?" Harm asked.

"25 minutes. We're 10 short."

"Can we bingo to Da Nang?"

"Negative. We're over water no matter what we do." Gibson bit his lower lip and forced himself to say, "Harm. I'm not a good swimmer."

"Hoot, if it comes down to that, there'll be a chopper ready to pull us out of the water before we even get our flight suits wet."

Harmon Rabb wondered if he was trying to convince Hoot, or himself?

In the midst of such a serious situation, Harm was following what were called Bold Face procedures- mandatory actions which every aviator was required to learn.

Following the Bold Face kept Harm's mind focused and didn't allow it to wander, which could result in fear. Fear was a killer. Fear lead to panic, and panic made for bad decisions. One bad decision and Harm and Hoot were dead. Then the Navy chaplain would be knocking at the door to tell Trish that she was a widow, and Little Harm would grow up without a father...just like he had.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_USS Ticonderoga_  
17°30'00.0"N 108°30'00.0"E  
Tonkin Gulf  
Yankee Station-International waters

"That was the final evolution, Skipper," said Captain Brian "Buzzard" Bryant. He was the CAG: the Commander of the _Ticonderoga's _air wing. "Two birds are still out. Rabb and Boone in Bad Man flight."

"What's their problem?" asked Nielsen.

"They did some freelancing on the Thạch Hãn River. Rabb has fuel issues. He may have to punch out. Red Crown is setting up for possible recovery."

"Fuel issues? Where are our two whales?" the Captain asked.

"Tuna One had to return due to engine trouble. Tuna Two is being refueled and will be ready to launch in under five minutes."

"What about the tankers from the _Constellation?" _asked Nielsen.

"The _Connie's _bird's were flying missions up in Hongay and Loc Choa. Her tankers are bone dry," explained the CAG.

"Tuna One. Isn't that Lt. Phillips?" asked Nielsen.

"That is correct, Skipper," said Bryant.

"I've heard his name more than once from Commander Rice." Commander Taylor Rice headed the Aviation Intermediate Maintenance Department and he considered every aircraft on board the _Ticonderoga _to be his personal property. Commander Rice did not speak highly of Lt. Phillips.

"Lt. Phillips has had a run of bad luck, but I assure you that..."

"CAG, I don't have the luxury to differentiate between the incompetent and the unfortunate. We have two aviators who may run out of fuel, and that is unacceptable."

During the early days of WWII in the Pacific, Lt. Jack Nielsen was part of Fighter Squadron VF-8 and assigned to _USS Hornet. _During the Battle of Midway, ten F4F Wildcats from VF-8 were forced to ditch due to lack of fuel, including Nielsen.

"I spent a night adrift in a one man life raft, and it was only by the grace of God that a destroyer managed to find me. I won't have any man in my command suffer that fate. I want Tuna Two refueled and off the deck ASAP."

"That's Tuna Two taking off right now." Nielsen looked out his window and saw the hefty jet tanker being launched from the Number Two cat. "Skipper, there is a second matter that needs your attention. This one concerns Lt. Boone."

"Yes?"

"When instructed that there were no tankers in the air, Lt. Boone began berating everyone and everything in the Navy."

"Considering his wingman may be forced to eject due to lack of tanker support, I can't say that I blame him. When Rabb and Boone return, wet or dry, I'll want to see them both on the bridge," ordered Nielsen.

* * *

Harm's radio crackled. "Navy Bad Man One, Navy Bad Man One, this is Red Crown, acknowledge."

"Red Crown, this is Bad Man One, go ahead."

"Bad Man, I found you some gas. Come right to 151 degrees, TACAN 109, Victor two-two, and rendezvous with Sumo Two, A Marine KC-130 heading for Đông Hà. Intercept time is six minutes."

Heading 151 meant going back towards Vietnam and away from the _Ticonderoga. _If the KC-130 wasn't there, or wasn't on time, Harm knew he'd be out of fuel and left with no choice but to punch out. On the other hand, the whale would never reach them in time and he didn't stand a chance of making the _Tico_ on what remained of his internal fuel.

Harm didn't think twice. "Red Crown, Bad Man One is changing course, heading 151. I have ten minutes fuel remaining."

"Roger Bad Man. Contact Sumo Two on channel 129.5. I have Clementine inbound...just in case. Good luck."

Harm switched his radio to frequency 129.5 and began calling for the tanker. "Sumo Two, Sumo Two, this is Navy Bad Man One. Acknowledge."

"Bad Man One, this is Sumo Two. I understand you are looking for some gas," said Lt. Mike Conway, USMC.

Sumo Two was from Marine squadron VMGR-152, which supported F-4's and A-4's used by Marine tactical squadrons. The KC-130's operated from Đông Hà, an airbase north of Da Nang which was just 10 km south of the DMZ.

"That's A-firm, Sumo. I've got the _Ticonderoga's _charge card."

"Your credit's good with the Corps, Bad Man. I'm behind you and off your starboard wing. Let me know when you have a visual."

Harm swung his head to the right and saw the tanker. "Tally Ho, Sumo. I have you off my right wing. How much have you got on tap?"

"The Corps has been busy today. I only have 15,000 pounds to give."

"Sumo, wait one." Harm called Boone. "How much fuel do you need?"

"I'm okay. Take it all." Boone was lying. By the time they reached the _Tico _he would be in serious fuel trouble.

"I need 12,000. You take 3,000," Harm insisted.

"Roger. Go ahead and tank."

"Sumo Two, Bad Man One. I'll take 12,000. Make it high-test."

"Sorry, Bad Man, but the Marine Corps can only afford regular...and no Green Stamps." Conway signaled his crew to begin unreeling the 80 foot long refueling hose. When the hose was deployed, Conway called back to Harm, "Bad Man One, Sumo is ready to commence refueling."

Unlike Air Force tankers where a dedicated boom operator seated in the tail of the aircraft literally "flies" the a refueling boom into the receiving aircraft, the Navy and Marines used the probe-and-drogue refueling method. Probe and Drogue employed a flexible hose that trails from the tanker aircraft and uses a basket, which looks like a giant shuttlecock, as the means of fuel delivery.

In order to receive fuel, Harm had to fly his Phantom in-trail of the KC-130 until he had closed enough to slide the probe protruding from the right side of the fuselage into the basket. For two aircraft which were traveling at over 300 mph, this required a closure rate of no more than five miles per hour.

It was at best a tricky maneuver and the skies over the Gulf of Tonkin were becoming rough. Hoot watched the refueling maneuver nervously in the backseat, but Harmon Rabb was rock-steady at the controls and he made it seem easy.

"Contact," announced Harm. He pushed the basket forward a few feet with his refueling probe which opened the tanker's fuel flow valve and allowed the JP-5 to flow.

It took six minutes to refuel Harm's F-4, and another two minutes to refuel Boone.

Harm now had over 15,000 pounds of fuel. Even with the leak, that amount would be sufficient for him to reach the _Tico. _

"Sumo Two, Bad Man leader. Refueling complete. I appreciate the assist from the Corps."

"One team, one fight, Bad Man. Good luck," said Lt. Conway, who rocked his wings and then headed for Đông Hà.

"Tom, form up right and keep an eye on that leak. Let me know if anything changes."

"Roger. Loss appears unchanged."

"Red Crown...Red Crown, this is Navy Bad Man One."

"Go ahead, Bad Man," said Chief Nowell, who had been monitoring the entire refueling process.

"I've tanked and I'm RTB. I should have 2000 pounds remaining when I reach Yankee Station."

"Roger. Clementine is on station for possible recovery. Tuna Two is now airborne and is on it's way."

Before Harm could respond, Tom Boone cut in. "Well it's about god damned time somebody got Phillips off his lazy ass!"

A new voice came over the radio. "Aircraft transmitting. Identify yourself," said Lt. Commander Charles Dawson, the commander of the _Chicago's _flight controllers.

Byplay over the radio was commonplace, and it was tolerated- to a point, but Dawson felt that this particular pilot had been pushing the envelope too hard and for too long.

"This is Navy Bad Man Two. LT. Thomas Boone at the controls."

"Roger, Bad Man Two," was all that Dawson had to say.

"I think I'm off that guy's Christmas list," said Boone, who didn't give a damn who was listening.

"Stow the chatter," said Harm, and their radio communications during the twenty minute flight to the _Ticonderoga _were routine.

* * *

Harm spotted the _Tico's _smoke before he saw the ship.

Only the _USS Enterprise _was nuclear powered. The rest of the Navy's carriers used boilers which ran on the same heavy fuel oil that was used in WWII.

Aircraft carriers must maintain a steady course and speed into the wind while launching or recovering aircraft. The _Ticonderoga_ and her two destroyer escorts were moving at two-thirds speed while a frigate on "plane guard" duty maintained a position 20° to port and kept a distance of one mile in trail.

Land based aircraft used a box-shaped traffic pattern, but the normal pattern for landing on a carrier was an oval "race track" with a constant, semi-circular left turn. The race track pattern allowed aircraft timing, spacing, and intervals to be more easily controlled.

Harm's first radio contact from the _Tico_ came from the ship's air marshal. "Aircraft entering the pattern. Identify."

There were no clever call signs now. Aircraft had to be identified by type and number. "This is two-two-niner. An F-4 short on fuel."

"Marshal to 2-2-9, confirm. No push. You are the only aircraft in the pattern. Expect final bearing at 3-3-1. I'm handing you over to approach."

"Harm, you trap first," said Boone.

"Negative, Tom. You have to be on fumes," said Harm.

"Get your butt down there," Boone insisted.

"Two, two, niner, you are cleared for approach. Final radar contact 2 miles. Fly bull's-eye azimuth until lock-on. Final bearing 3-3-1."

Approach personnel were enlisted men, but in the air their word was law. If approach gave flight directions to a four-star admiral, the admiral would have to obey.

"Two, two, niner, roger. I have beacon lock-on," answered Harm, who began to make preparations to land.

With no other traffic in the pattern, Harm raced along the _Tico's_ starboard side, crossed the bow and then made a "break" turn; a full deflection snap-roll to the left at a 70-degree angle of bank. The break was accompanied by a chop of the throttles to slow down, which made for a very crisp and almost head-snapping maneuver. Harm moved past the _Tico's_ destroyer escort and turned left again.

After establishing himself on the final leg, Harm listened while Hoot began reading the landing checklist. There was a lot to do, and precious little time for Harm to do it.

By the time the checklist was completed, Harm had closed with the big ship's stern. Now he could spot the "meatball," the optical carrier landing aid using a Fresnel lens mounted on the left side of the platform. The ball was stabilized for the roll, pitch, and yaw of the warship and to maintain proper approach, Harm would need to keep an amber center light, called the Meatball, lined up with the datum lights. If the Ball turned green Harm was too high, while red indicated a too low approach, which could lead to a deadly ramp-strike.

The Landing Signal Officer on the ship's stern could give a "wave-off" by triggering a button on a hand-grip which was called the "pickle". Squeezing the pickle made the meatball array flash with an angry vengeance to signal an abort (called a bolter) and force the pilot to make a climb back up to the traffic pattern for another try.

Tom Boone's frantic voice called out, "Bad Man One, from Two! Harm, fuel is pouring out of the leaks. Cut the pump and climb to tank with the whale."

"Negative. I don't have the gas to go around," Harm said without a trace of urgency in his voice.

"Phantom, approach. I have you in the box. Couple up," called the controller, who was by now far more nervous than Harm.

"Rabb. Phantom, two- two- niner, 1.1." The last number was Harm's fuel state, which was critical.

"Phantom, Paddles. You have a ready deck." Despite the serious fuel state, LT. Commander Mike "Frisco" Fernell, the Landing Signal officer, knew that Harmon Rabb was among the most capable aviators in the wing.

Harmon Rabb made trapping seem almost automatic, and Fernell would get him aboard.

"Two, two, niner, roger."

"Phantom, you are lined up left...come right," the LSO instructed, and Harm automatically did so. "Phantom, you are on center-line. Call the ball."

Harm spotted the Fresnel lens and began his final approach. "Roger ball."

The F-4 was rock-solid on approach. The Phantom's twin J-79 turbojet engines gave almost instantaneous response to throttle movements and once trimmed, very little flight control input was needed. The Phantom's issue was that it landed fast at around 145 knots, and many pilots were caught off guard.

Harm descended gradually, almost as if he was walking down a flight of stairs.

By now, Hoot had stopped calling out the fuel numbers. All of the gauges read empty.

Carrier landings are violent by nature. The momentum of the aircraft as it lands hard allows the deck and the aircraft's tires to absorb some of the energy, which in turn decelerates the aircraft.

As soon as Harm touched the deck, he pushed the throttles wide open, caught the three-wire, and the big Phantom slammed to a stop.

The F-4 gently rolled backwards and after a rating had secured the arresting cable, yellow shirted plane directors motioned Harm to a parking spot ahead of the island.

Harm had no time to waste. Tom Boone was landing right behind him. Harm clicked the button on his control stick to enable nose wheel steering and began to taxi. This was the part of the recovery which Harm dreaded the most. An aircraft carrier's deck was a tight place to maneuver, and it was not unheard of for a pilot to make a textbook trap and then screw up while taxiing.

Fender benders involving multi million dollar jets were expensive, and the offenders name would be placed on the "Crunch Board" for all to see.

Harm was still taxing along the deck when both of his engines quit- he was completely out of fuel.

"Get a tractor on that aircraft!" the Air Boss screamed over the 5MC, which was the flight deck PA system.

A tractor raced over; connected to the aircraft in record time, and towed the now disabled Phantom to its parking spot.

"How'd you like that ride, Hoot?" Harm asked Gibson?

"I'll go up with you anytime, Harm." The backseat of an F-4 could be a harsh teacher, but Harm was smoothing out the rough spots. As Hoot gained experience he'd be able to anticipate what Harm was going to do before he did it and they'd make a fine team.

Tom Boone's RIO, Archie "Jughead" Bond, complained that Boone had a quick temper and was impossible to please. Harmon Rabb was the opposite and Hoot didn't want to fly with anyone else.

First to greet Harm was his plane captain, Aviation Boatswains Mate Third Class Andrew Thomas, who was responsible for making sure that Harm's plane is fit to fly. Thomas performing daily checks on the aircraft, and made additional checks before and after each flight.

Plane captains often spend as much as 14 hours per day keeping "their" plane ready, and Andrew Thomas was no exception. He treated Sweet Sarah like royalty.

Thomas assisted Harm in getting out of the aircraft and then helped him with his gear. "You had me worried, Mister Rabb."

In addition to being the best pilot in the squadron, Petty Officer Thomas felt that Harmon Rabb was a true professional who appreciated all of the personnel that made the F-4 fly.

"Sarah brought us home, but I'm afraid that I put few holes in her," Harm explained.

"Don't worry, sir. Once we get Sarah patched up and painted, she'll look as good as new."

No sooner had Tom Boone and Archie Bond parked and exited their F-4 then the ship's PA screamed, "Lieutenants Rabb and Boone report to the bridge- on the double!"

"Looks like we've been called to the principal's office," said Boone.

"Tom, just shut the hell up," said Harm.

Seeing Harm angry caught Boone by surprise. In a rare demonstration of good sense, he decided to follow his friend's advice.

* * *

The two aviators arrived on the bridge still in their flight gear, complete with survival vests and G-suits. "Lieutenants Rabb and Boone, reporting as ordered," Harm said to Captain Nielsen.

Nielsen's ass chewing lasted less than a minute, and all of it was directed at Tom Boone, who wisely stood in silence.

"I just got off the horn with Captain DeLargy, skipper of the _Chicago. _It seems that one of my aviators was running his mouth on the radio. Oddly enough, I didn't need to ask who it was. I took it for granted that it was you, Mister Boone."

"No excuse, sir."

"Give me just one reason why I shouldn't put you on the deck," Nielsen demanded of Boone.

Harm spoke up. "Begging your pardon, Captain, but Lt. Boone saved my six."

"How so?"

"I suffered damage to one of my fuel tanks and lacking familiarity with my aircraft's electrical systems I was unable to reset the fuel and transfer pumps. Lt. Boone understood the switchology and he provided step by step instructions which allowed me to restart both pumps. This gave me enough fuel to rendezvous with the Marine Corps tanker. Sir, without Lt Boone's assistance, I would have been forced to eject, resulting in the loss of a $2.5 million aircraft. Sir, without Lt. Boone's technical knowledge our entire squadron could be at risk."

Nielsen coughed loudly. "Noted, Lt. Rabb." Nielsen shifted his attention back to Boone. "Mister Boone, you have popped up more than once on my radar. That is not a good place for a junior officer to be. From this point forward, you will keep whatever opinions you may have about naval operations to yourself. Am I clear?"

"Perfectly clear, sir," answered Boone.

"Mister Boone, you are dismissed. Lt. Rabb, you will remain," and Boone fled the bridge.

Seeing that Harm was still at attention, Nielsen said, "Stand at ease. That was a fine bit of flying today, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir," Harm answered with due modesty. Captain Nielsen did not hand out compliments. The joke aboard ship was that Jack Nielsen was the most even tempered skipper in the Navy: he was always pissed off.

Nielsen looked Harmon Rabb up and down. Remembering Warren Rabb from the _Hornet, _Nielsen saw that Harm was taller than his father, and thinner.

"How is your mother?" Nielsen asked.

"She's fine, sir. Thank you for asking." Harm smiled at the mention of his mother, and Nielsen saw that the father and the son shared the same infectious smile.

Warren Rabb's smile could light up a room. After all, that was how he attracted Miss Sarah Harmon, the young woman who would become his wife.

"Is she still on the farm in Pennsylvania?"asked Nielsen.

"Yes, sir. She still lives in Beallsville, and she's quite comfortable."

"Did she ever remarry?" asked Nielsen, knowing that it had been 26 years since the Navy Department declared Warren Rabb dead.

"No, sir. I doubt that she ever will."

"You have a son of your own, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir. Harmon Rabb Jr. He turned six years old last month."

There were a hundred more questions that Nielsen wanted to ask Rabb about his family, but good order and discipline precluded them. "The next time you speak to your mother, give her my regards."

"I'll do that. Thank you, sir."

"That will be all, Lieutenant."

"Aye aye, sir," and Harmon Rabb left the bridge.

Jack Nielsen lit a Camel, and as the blue smoke drifted towards the overhead, his mind drifted back to the Battle of Midway.

His old fighter squadron flew for hours over open ocean while searching for the Jap fleet, but they never saw so much as a ripple in the water. While returning to the _Hornet_, ten F4F's ran out of fuel and were forced to ditch. Jack Nielsen was among the nine who were recovered. Warren Rabb was lost at sea.

Warren Rabb might have become a war hero, had he survived, but at the Battle of Midway he never fired a shot. No one in VF-8 fired a shot at the enemy during what became a historic naval engagement.

The aviator's of VF-8 had trained together for years, and in early June, 1942, the death of a single member of the squadron had seemed a tragedy beyond measure.

Warren Rabb was simply the first among his squadron mates to die in the war. Seven other men from the original 12 members of Squadron VF-8 would not survive to see VJ Day.

Jack Nielsen had known them all.

Nielsen summoned for his Yeoman to the bridge. "Cut the papers to award LT. Harmon Rabb an Air Medal. When they're ready, bring to me to sign."

"Aye aye, sir," answered the Yeoman, who knew that such an award would normally require approval by Commander Bryant, the CAG.

Jack Nielsen snuffed out his camel and sat down in his chair.

Nielsen wondered how much Harmon Rabb really knew about his father? Nielsen remembered Warren Rabb as being a fine aviator, but Nielsen's gut feeling told him that Warren's son Harmon was even better.

* * *

When Harm returned to their cabin, Boone was waiting for him. "Thanks, Harm. You pulled my ass out of the fire."

"Don't sweat it, Tom. I've got your six covered."

"Chow has been pushed back to 1900, so we've got time to clean up," said Boone.

"Glad to hear it." Harm reached for his tape recorder.

_Hi, Trish. It's Thanksgiving Day on the Tico and everything is quiet. Tom and I flew an easy mission this afternoon, and now we're going to wash up and head to the wardroom for a turkey dinner with all of the trimmings..._


End file.
